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From the time I was a kid, not even 6 years on the planet yet, I've been front line exposed to killing. The first and second murder I was exposed to was that of JFK and then (((ruby))) puts a gut shot into Oswald on live TV. I'm 5 years old, the ability to process any degree of moral turpitude just ain't there.

Once a month my father and two of my uncles made scheduled rounds to several places in town and rural areas to slaughter chickens. I can still recall in vivid detail everything about the day when my uncle said to my father that I may as well come along...I'm in a 5 year old state of wonder and have absolutely zero clue about what is going on.

I can see it right now as if I'm there that day a long time ago. Sunny and cool September day and I'm sitting between my dad and favorite uncle, he was a twin to Robert Mitchum, and I'm fascinated with the way my dad starts the 1956 Dodge Fargo step side...my eyes are fixed on his feet...he's pushing down on the clutch with his left foot and his right foot is going back and forth from the floor starter to the gas pedal until it starts, and we're off...and I'm still clueless.

15 minutes later we're at the first place and a few other people are there and there's a small structure just off the "site". The structure was a chicken coop, the "site" was the slaughter area and there was a large diameter block...I'm still thinking like a 5 year old. Then the old "BABUSHKA LADY" comes with a 50lb potato sack that is stuffed with chickens...I'm still thinking like a 5 year old.

My dad grabs the first bird and stretched it across the block, he held the body down with one hand and pinched the beak with his two fingers of the other hand, I'm watching and my uncle tells me to pay attention, I hear him but I'm watching my dad pull on that chicken beak and I don't really grab what he's telling me...and I had no idea that he was raising that axe...fuck, I'm just a fucking 5 year old who thinks like a 5 year old.

THAT FUCKING AXE CAME DOWN AND SUDDENLY, I'M NO LONGER THINKING LIKE A 5 YEAR OLD.

I was amazed at how the chickens would fly all over the place with no head...THEN...my father tells me to hold the beak while he held the body. I just did what I was told because that's the way it was.

I SPECIFICALLY REMEMBER THE WORDS OF MY UNCLE AS HE RAISED HIS AXE...he says to me "just watch out for the blade", I'm no longer thinking like a 5 year old, first thought was, "but you're holding the axe" and I'm wondering if I'm holding the beak right and then the blade comes down and I'm holding the head of a chicken by the beak and the body is flying around like a, like a "chicken with it's head cut off". I'll never forget looking back and forth at the yellow beak and then the flying headless bird. Then my dad tells me that it's the "nerves" that make the chicken fly around. That day we slaughtered over 200 birds, all decapitated by axe...and it didn't bother me.

Killing is not the same as murder, killing is an imperative act whereas murder is an act of choice. I kill because I have to, not because I want to. If I have to kill it's because it's justified, if it's not justified then it's murder.

At the age of 10, my brother 9, the chore of slaughtering chickens and rabbits were our responsibility, the pigs and cows were done by our elders until the age of 15.

Then there was the task of protecting the animals and fowl that we were later going to slaughter...coyote, coons, stray cats and dogs, any of them came into the yard, regardless of where they were in the yard, all got whacked. My father's 3 weapons of choice were the .22, the .410 and a 30-06 , all of which my brother and I were firing at 12 years old.

Just a point of interest...I remember a pack of wild dogs coming into the yard and heading right for the coop, the old man grabbed the 30-06 because there was one fuck of a big mutt that the looked like it would take a 30-06 to bring down...my dad didn't even step off the porch landing, he wacked that mutt at 150yrds with a 180grn round nose, damned near cut that dog in two pieces at the shoulder, eventually my brother and I got the other mutts with the .410 (slugs) and the .22...the cats were a big problem too but between us and two neighbors to the north of us, one being a cop, we wiped them out. (fuck I got stories of cat hunts)

What I'm stating is, that it's very important for a man to know how, when and why to kill, knowing this stops a man from committing murder.

Unlike murder there's no guilt with killing , and I killed two more coons tonight...AND I FEEL GREAT ABOUT IT.